


Leviathan

by fear_of_being_bitten



Series: Night without Stars: Darkfic Short Works [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Priests, Biblical Reinterpretation, Dark, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Darkfic, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Gothic, I didn't make that last tag up lol, MerMay, Monsterfucking, Priest Kink, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Tentaclo, but in porn, pray for author, priestlo, reclaiming myth, tags will update, what is even happening here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:41:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fear_of_being_bitten/pseuds/fear_of_being_bitten
Summary: Rey Niima is a girl from nowhere with no prospects and fewer options.  She takes a position caring for the lighthouse and old chapel on Church Island under the watchful eye of the mysterious Father Solo.But why do the locals fear the island so?  Why do the birds avoid the chapel?  What ancient horrors lie beneath the stones?  And why do Father Solo's darkly beautiful eyes haunt Rey even in her dreams, giving her forbidden notions and even stranger desires?A dark fantasy Priestlo/Tentaclo fic for 2020 Reylo Mermay.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Night without Stars: Darkfic Short Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169996
Comments: 118
Kudos: 271
Collections: Of Tails and Tentacles





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neuvoreylogirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuvoreylogirl/gifts).



> For the absolutely fabulous SWXennial who has given so much joy to this fandom! Her gifs and edits are to die (laughing) for. You are a treasure!
> 
> This is a truly bizarre gothic/horror/porn/sexy/monsterfucking/darkfic/soft story, so I'm going to call it dubious consent right now. Please mind the tags in case things change! 
> 
> Thank you to Smalta for the advice on a suitable endearment for our sweet "fishlet" in Russian! :D

The boat is small but sound. They’re alone on the channel that separates the island from the mainland, but Rey Niima is not afraid. She trusts the old captain to deliver her ashore.

The fading light of the sun steals the color from the world, reducing it to greys and the endless dark, deep green of the sea. She leans her chin on folded hands along the rim of the skiff to watch the creamy whitecaps. The rhythmic sway of the boat rocks her as gently as a cradle. Rey’s eyes drift closed against the salted wind. 

It’s been a long day’s journey leaving the city and the only home she’s ever known. At eighteen years old, with no family to claim her and no longer a ward of the state, the placement on the island was the best option. Now she must fend for herself in a world that doesn’t seem much to want her.

The old wood creaks behind her, and the captain coughs. Rey turns to watch him spit and wipe a sleeve across his bearded mouth. With eyes as clear and blue as seaglass, he scans the clouds forming on the horizon.

“Aye, it’s blowing in this evening. A proper nor’easter. Looks like a few days’ worth of rain. Hold tight, little miss, the riptides come in strong this last bit. Can’t lose you now.” He laughs with dark humor, and she turns back around.

Undulating waves draw them forward, rolling beneath them like the muscles of a giant serpent. As peaceful as it is now, the ocean’s temper is mercurial. Winds shift quickly, the tides turn, and the small boat could easily be dashed to pieces against the rocks. Tonight, they are fortunate, for the sea is tamed. Tonight, it’s gracious.

Despite the encroaching dark, she can distinguish the outcropping of the ancient island rising from the surface like a set of jagged teeth. She wraps her wool shawl tighter to her chest. A lone point of light on the dock guides them in.

Her new home is waiting for her.

_______

The captain helps her onto the dock where the caretaker, Old Mrs. Kanata, greets them with a smile.

“Welcome to Church Island, missy. Come, let’s get you something warm to eat.”

Rey’s grateful for the kindness, but even more grateful for the food. She turns to the captain, who’s already unloading the freight from the back of the boat.

“Thank you, sir,” she says quietly.

He stills and those keen sea-glass eyes find hers. “We’ll see about that. I’m leaving after the storm blows through, maybe a day or two, just in case you may be changing your mind.”

Her eyebrows rise. It feels like a warning as much as an offer. Rey won’t change her mind; she’s got no place else to go. Nodding, she picks up her small bag and spins on her heels to follow Mrs. Kanata who’s already taking the path up the hill.

The winding stairway is cut straight into the cliffside and follows the natural terrain. It’s steep and the stones are damp, so Rey must take care on every step, holding up her long skirts in a tight hand. Mrs. Kanata walks ahead unconcerned, holding the lantern high and talking all the way.

“Captain Skywalker comes once a month or so, tides allowing, with fresh food and tack. We tend a garden and harvest the rest from the sea– so a meal is precious here and we won’t be wasting any bit of it, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rey wouldn’t waste a morsel in any case. A child who grows up on a steady diet of hunger never takes a full belly for granted. She glances to her right, back to the open water they’re leaving behind. Darkness has fallen and she can’t make out the lights on the mainland under the moonless sky. It’s an eerie feeling, seeing only the black. Like being adrift in a sea of night.

“We schedule chores around prayer times, which is three times a day, except for the sabbath, of course, when the Father holds services. He insists we all observe the peace and rest.”

‘Yes, ma’am.” Rey took the placement from sheer desperation, not a strong faith. The Dear Lord above has done little for her in her short life. Yet as long as she’s fed and safe, she can tolerate just about anything.

They finally crest the top of the hill. On one side is the lighthouse, a lone tower facing the mainland. The only beacon to ships passing by on the whaling route to warn them of the rocks. On the other stands the ancient stone church. It looks old enough to have predated the city, possibly older than even the vikings who occupied the region generations ago, and it now houses the faith of the crown. Made from stone born from the island itself, it’s main feature is an arched wooden door painted black and a steeple with an iron cross. 

“You’ll be staying in the long house.” Mrs. Kanata points to a building behind the church. “The nuns and the Father have huts, but we need someone to tend the coals in the kitchen at night. That’ll be you. The wood’s too damp to start a fire from scratch each day, and we need them for the lighthouse. It’s very important to Father that we keep the fires running, you kin?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Mrs. Kanata leads Rey on the path curving around the church. As they pass by, she looks inside the windows. The glass is clear, not stained or ornate. She can see the glow of candles on an altar, and a bare cross hangs on the wall, but not much else. Rey looks down again at the rocky path.

She follows Mrs. Kanata through the kitchen door. It’s a simple square room with a fire in the hearth and a cast-iron pot hanging from an iron hook above. A wooden table for preparation sits in the middle of the floor, with baskets of vegetables on the floor and dried herbs hanging from nails in the wall. 

“I’ve got some fish soup and crusty bread from supper. Here, sit.” 

Rey takes a wooden stool by the fire and holds out her hands to warm them. The golden-orange light from the flames makes the shadows flicker in the corners. Mrs. Kanata sets the lantern on the table and spoons out a bowl of soup.

“Now, about the Father,” the old woman says, seating herself down next to Rey and wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re not to speak to him at all, unless he speaks to you first. You hear?”

Rey blows on the hot soup and nods. It tastes good, if a bit salty.

“He’s an ascetic, you see. Of the old school. He studies texts and translates old books and papers and whatnot. You are _not_ to touch a single thing of his, not a single one, they’re all precious. Understand?”

Rey swallows. “Is he stern?”

Mrs. Kanata smiles. “Oh, Father is– well. A bit strange, I’d say, but his heart is not bad. He’s just got no interest in people, as such. He’s got a mind only for holy things.” Her eyebrows rise. “And if he’s ever cross, you don’t want to see it. It’s as if he’s got another side lying beneath and you best not provoke him.”

Rey’s eyes go wide. She knows the type. The old headmaster of the children’s home, Mr. Plutt, was the same. A temper thin as a twig and when he snapped– well, she still carries the scars from his belt to remember it.

“Now, you’ll be sleeping by the kitchen. It’s cosy enough and close to the fire. Stoke it at night when you wake. We’ll scrounge you more blankets tomorrow, since you’re a waifish thing, to be sure. If you’re cold, take some coals back in a pot for yourself.”

She nods and rises, her soup drained to the last drop. Mrs. Kanata notices and pats her shoulder. “Good girl.”

Rey blushes. Praise is a rarity in her life, so even a crumb tastes like a feast. Mrs. Kanata shows her to the small room tucked under the stairwell. The ceiling is slanted on one side, but there’s a tiny window where she can see the sky. It’s spare– a single cot in the corner, a small table and chamberpot– but it’s her own. 

“Good night, missy. I’ll see you as the sun rises.”

Left alone, Rey undresses down to her shift. She tucks under the blankets and twists herself into a knot to save as much heat as she can. The window pane rattles a bit with the gusts. She turns her head to stare at the inky rectangle of night. Will she see stars when the clouds clear? Have a bit of sky for herself? After a long while, her tired eyes finally fall closed.

________

It’s the middle of the night when she wakes. She’s cold, shivering. Her thin frame doesn’t carry enough meat to provide adequate heat on its own.

She remembers Mrs. Kanata’s words about the coals. She needs to stoke the fire and take some coals back. Rey slips on her laced boots and wraps a blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes adjust to the hazy dark, and she opens her door to creep into the kitchen.

Rey stops when she hears a sound.

Peering around the corner, she can make out a shape by the hearth. It’s a man, although his edges are blurred in her vision, maybe by sleep or some sort of dream magic, so she can’t quite pin down his precise dimensions in the shadows. She rubs her eyes and blinks.

The man is large, with dark hair and dark clothes, bent over the soup pot left over the coals. It must be cold now. 

Rey doesn’t make herself known. Simply watches as he scoops out a long piece of squid tentacle in his fingers and then tilts his head back to swallow it down whole, from base to tip.

The hair on her scalp prickles. 

The man digs out another piece of fish and stiffens. Before she can retreat back inside her room, before she can even take another breath, his neck cranes around and dark eyes– _moonlit eyes –_ land on her.

They’re beautiful. She’s mesmerized by the depth of them, the dark liquidity. They pin her in place.

“Hello, little one,” the man says in a voice so deep it sounds mined from under the ground. His accent is strange, archaic and hard to place. “I didn’t hear you there.”

He stands to full height and turns slowly, so now she can see the white collar fitted around his neck. The Father. He’s very tall and so broad, but much younger than she expected. His hair is thick and dark, down to his shoulders and tied back with twine. His figure blends into the dark, as if cut from the night itself, the only white the collar and his long teeth as he smiles.

Father llicks his full lips and places the other bite of fish in his mouth as he watches her. His jaw works as he chews. The heavy pressure in her chest reminds her to breathe.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“R-Rey Ni-ima, Sir.” She’s trembling from more than the cold.

He smiles softly, midnight eyes sparkling and alert despite the very late hour. “You may call me Father.”

“Y-yes, Fa-father.”

“Are you frightened, child?” He moves closer, graceful and silent for someone so large, his dark eyes curious and not unkind.

“N-no,” the shivering won’t stop, it rattles from deep within her body and she cannot control it. “I-I’m just cold.”

“Ahh.” He draws even closer. Rey must lift her chin to keep her eyes on his face. She bites her lower lip to stop her teeth from chattering. 

“What can we do about that?”

Their eyes hover on one another in the dark. There’s an instant when she does feel afraid at what she thinks she sees there. The instinct rises from the animal part of her brain, a whispering fear that if she tried to run he would chase her. Instead, Rey grips the blanket to dispel the odd notion. This is a man of the church. The Father. He would not hurt her.

Although she does not take her eyes from him, he still moves so quickly that there’s no time to flinch. Father reaches for her, and before she can even think to resist, he’s already pulled her into his wide chest and enveloped her in his arms. Her breath freezes solid in her chest.

Every muscle goes rigid at the shock of his body pressing into hers, enfolding her in his surprisingly strong arms. Rey blinks, her heart pounding, cheek pressed to his firm chest. Father makes no other movement, simply holds her, and the panic recedes as the first wave of his body heat seeps into her. He smells of salt and smoke, and the ritual scent of incense. His heat melts through her layers and she relaxes gradually into his hold. The hands she’s clawed against her own chest unwind and fall loose at her sides. 

“There, there.” His palm drags down her back, adding sparks of friction to the warmth. Her skin prickles, both unnerved and comforted. “So small and cold. Better now, Rybka?”

Her voice returns to her soft and small. “Yes, Father. Thank you. But my name is Rey.”

“I know your name, little Rey, but Rybka is what you are. A little fish pulled from the sea, quivering.”

She remembers his long fingers dipping the fish into his mouth, and she swallows. Her body is heating from the inside out and her eyes go wider at the discomfort of the sensation, the confusion she feels. This is a man of God, the Father. He’s only holding her to warm her. This is acceptable.

Once her shivering stops, Father pulls back and resets her blanket on her shoulders, letting his hands rest there. He smiles with his long, white teeth.

“Better, Rybka? You aren’t squirming any longer.” 

She nods and looks down, overcome by shyness.

“I’m taking coals for the lighthouse. Light the fire and take some coals for yourself. We cannot have you frozen, now can we?”

She shakes her head to agree with him. The heat in her cheeks keeps her plenty warm.

Rey hazards a glance up, and again is caught in the spell of his gaze. An unusual face with eyes knowing and yet sad, dark as ink with splinters of gold. They hold her tighter than a trap and she cannot look away, no matter how timid she feels.

He cocks his head at her, studying her, and again that urge to run flares in her mind. She feels very small and uncertain, a small fish in a big sea. 

“After breakfast, come to me in the church. I have some work for you.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Now, sleep, little Rey. Blessed dreams.”

  
  


Her eyes drag down to the white collar around his neck as he leans forward and places a soft kiss on the part on her hair.

Father turns to collect the coals in the bucket and she watches him sweep out the door. Rey presses it closed behind him, watching through the glass as his black robes flutter in the dark. Night blending back into the night.

Rey crouches down by the fire and adds enough wood to make a brilliant blaze. She wraps arms around her knees and watches until the flames die down again feeling warm and soft.

Thinking of starless nights and midnight eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, thanks for waiting!
> 
> This is not a long story, so will probably be another one or two chapters, depending. I wanted to build up a little tentacle---err, I mean tension, before the full shebang. :D
> 
> Thanks for reading my bizarre little fable. I appreciate your support of my nonsense!

The clatter of pans wakes her before the sun. 

Rey wipes her eyes open and gets dressed in the quiet, cold dark of her new room. 

Her limbs feel heavy. She’d watched until the fire died down to coals before falling into her cot, exhausted. Although she doesn’t remember her dreams, they left her restless and unsated. 

Mrs. Kanata is already preparing the breakfast porridge and smoked fish for the nuns. Rey helps her, slicing vegetables for the afternoon soup and hauling water from the spring-fed well out back.

Rey pumps the rusted handle and glances at the church windows. No sign of movement or light. Perhaps the Father is still sleeping.

They prepare the breakfast plates and carry them to the dining hall, lighting a small fire for the tea kettles. The nuns file in silently and sit on long, plank benches. They stare at their plates with crinkled faces that don’t seem made for smiling. Rey is wise enough not to speak as she dishes out the portions.

After the kitchen’s been cleaned, Mrs. Kanata prepares a basket for Father. It’s filled with crusty bread and a bit of salted fish in a packet, and a bottle of red wine. Father only takes one meal during the day, and always by himself, as part of his routine of self-denial, Mrs. Kanata explains.

Rey wraps her shawl tight around her shoulders and hugs the basket to her chest as she sets out on the trail. The cry of a gull makes her look up, and she’s greeted with a strange sight. 

A flock of birds is flying in an arc around the church. They refuse to fly directly over the roof, swerving in an odd pattern as if avoiding an invisible wall. No birds perch on the roofline, either, nor on the window ledges. She turns to look at the nuns’ huts in the distance and sees birds on the thatched roofs. 

It’s just the church they avoid. Odd.

The black wood door is as heavy as it looks. She must put down the basket to use both hands. It closes behind her with a clang, and the soft quiet of the chapel envelops her. It’s cool and dark inside, the filtered sunlight not reaching the stone floor. All exterior sound falls away. Her heels click on the dark stone floor as she walks up the center aisle to the altar.

A strange sense of recognition washes over her and a warmth that seeps under her skin like a stain. She’s been here before. It’s a feeling that makes no sense, yet it feels so true. Deja vu. She shakes her head to clear the superstitious thought. It feels pagan in this holy space.

The cold seems to rise from the stone floor itself, like a cave. She shivers and stops before the bare altar to nod her head respectfully. The empty wood cross mounted on the wall is plain. There’s no icon or carvings, no embellishment at all. Just wood and the meaning you give the symbol. How strange a church is when empty of words and music; how unsettling when the quiet is the loudest thing.

Rey walks past to find Father’s office.

She knocks on his study door three times, as Mrs. Kanata instructed. If he does not answer, she must leave the basket and go. 

“Come inside,” he answers in a voice as deep as she remembered.

She steps inside, gingerly.

“I’ve brought your meal, Father.”

He’s sitting behind a large desk. Dressed in all black, his long hair tied back again and the white collar crisp around his neck. A striking figure made only slightly less intimidating by the smile.

“Good morning, little Rey, what have you brought for me?”

Her scalp tingles in the place where he kissed her last night, the part of her hair just at the crown of her head. She cannot meet his eyes, but moves beside him to place the basket on the desk.

Father rifles through with a bemused smile as she notices how long his neck is. How his Adam’s apple bobs above the collar, and the pale skin that leads down beneath the garment. 

Rey drops her eyes to the floor.

“Thank you, little one. Come. Sit.”

He gestures to a small chair next to the desk. It’s the only surface cleared of any papers and books, she notices. Rey wonders if he prepared it for her.

He sits back in his chair at ease, thighs spread wide and fingers braided at the waist. His long robes come down almost to his ankles and his shiny black boots look to be twice the size of hers. Although she cannot make out the shape of his legs, she can see muscles swelling against fabric and looks away quickly, a blush rising to her cheeks. He’s so large. It makes her feel smaller.

The memory of his touch burns into her skin anew. Father held her body against his, warmed her to the bone. The more she remembers the contact and the feel of his thick muscle pressed against her, the more it makes her squirm in her seat. It feels like she’s sitting on coals. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks kindly. “Were you warm enough?”

Her eyes widen. Can he sense it? What she’s thinking, does it show on her face? She looks down at her fingers twisting in her lap. “Fi-fine. Thank you.”

He huffs a breath, and she peeks up. Is he laughing at her?

Father’s eyes are brighter in the daylight. Like the golden brown of an ale bottle. “It takes time to get used to a new place, Rybka. I’m sure once you settle in, you will find it very comfortable.”

She nods. The curiosity overcomes her nerves and she asks, “Have you been here long, Father? On Church Island?”

He cocks his head at her. She’s not sure what he’s looking for, precisely, as he searches her face in that way. As if he’s trying to parse out a truth.

“It feels like forever,” he murmurs. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and a long finger curls over his lip and strokes. “Several years. Hard to measure time, for me. I have other interests than earthly ones, you see.” He waves a hand at the bookshelf.

They’re overflowing with books and parchment. Laden with journals, maps, and scraps of this and that, it seems.

“That is why I asked you here. I would like your help.”

“Me?” She cringes at the sound of her voice, like a small child. How could she be of any use to him?

His smile widens, showing his long teeth. “I need someone with small fingers for my work.” 

Father reaches out and unclasps one of her hands tenderly, carefully. She allows him to lift it up so that their palms are pressed together. His large hand eclipses hers and she squeezes her knees together with tension.

Father murmurs, “See? Yours are much smaller than mine, Rybka.”

She stares at their hands for a moment, then blushes. She musters the courage to look at Father’s face again.

He stares at her intently, as if waiting for something. Does he need an answer? Rey doesn’t know, but she wants to please him. The urge rises so sudden and strong, that it burns.

“Yes, Father.”

“Good girl.”

It feels like her cheeks are aflame now, and she looks down again to hide it. 

“Come, let me show you.”

Father leads her gently to the bookshelf and stands behind her. Her heart begins to thud in her chest, almost painfully aware of his proximity. His body is so close, all she would need to do is lean back on her heels to feel him solid and strong behind her. His warm breath is just behind her ear, and her skin erupts in goosebumps as she pulls the shawl tighter.

“I need someone to help me clean the manuscripts and fold the papers inside. I’m too clumsy for such fine work, but I know you will be careful.”

She nods, wordlessly. 

“I will tell you exactly what to do, have no fear. Yes?”

“Yes, Father.” What he tells her to do, she will do.

She can tell by his tone, he is happy with her. “Good. Let’s get started.”

______________

After breakfast each day, Rey spends her mornings with the Father in near silence. He reads and scrawls notes onto parchment while she brushes and sorts fragile papers, bringing him books when he asks for them.

She steals glances while he is reading. At his long, aquiline nose pointed down to the pages and his full lips pursed in contemplation. At the stray raven curl that breaks free and curls against the pale skin of his cheek.

On the second day of work, she realizes Father is beautiful. 

His striking features form perfectly together a man who is strong yet kind, tender but intimidating. It’s an odd sensation, like suddenly seeing a shape form out of the clouds, to realize how beautiful he actually is. She must remember not to stare, to mind herself in close quarters with him as they breathe the same air, the rustle of paper and the odd clearing of throat the only sounds.

By the fourth day, she’s terrified.

No one should feel the things she feels for a man of the cloth. She’ll be damned to hell, if such a place exists, because what she feels must be a sin. All the things she wants to do with Father.

All of the things she wants him to do to her.

She stacks the books on the shelf carefully, and looks over her shoulder, shy yet curious. Most often, he does not notice her at all, and she can take her fill of him from a distance.

But sometimes, when she turns, his dark eyes are already on her. Waiting for her to catch him looking. She turns back quickly, pulse fluttering at the intensity of his gaze.

He must’ve done something to her, that night he warmed her. When he kissed her hair. His touch must’ve infected her, or maybe it was his moonlit eyes. 

Either way, she must be doomed.

______________

It’s another early morning on the island. The storm clouds billow in sheets over the sea, thick and dark as smoke. 

Rey stands on the cliffside facing East. The sun is just a glowing promise on the horizon. Her thin, linen shift does little to warm her against the chill, and the wind whips the fine hairs that fell loose from her bun. 

It feels like she’s all alone on the edge of the world. 

There’s no birdsong, no sign of life beyond the steady beat of her own heart. A deep longing weighs heavy in her chest, for what she’s not sure. It rises and almost chokes her. 

The chapel bell rings. Somehow she knows that it is calling for her.

Rey turns to the sound. The flicker of candles from behind dark glass beckon her, and she must obey. Father is waiting.

She pulls the heavy door open and walks silently through the nave. Her bare feet are silent on the cold stone floor, sending a chill racing up her spine. There’s a void of sound inside the old church, like floating underwater. Rey cannot even hear the breath slipping from her own lips as she approaches the altar.

She kneels and clasps her hands. Every candle is lit, either in sacrament or in penance. Rey bows her head and begins to pray, but they are strange words and not her own:

_«Да будет воля Твоя, Господь, наш Бог и Бог наших предков, так что, как я исполнял и обитал в этой сукке, так и я должен заслужить быть в сукке кожи Левиафана в наступающем году. Иерусалим "._

  
  


Father is behind her. Suddenly, wordlessly, but she knows it is him. His warm grip steadies her shoulders. Yet something is also moving in her hair, another soft and tender brush against her cheek. Father is everywhere at once, and she closes her eyes to lean into the touch. Dutiful. Obedient. Hungry.

“You came to me, little one, ” his deep voice croons in her ear. “You’ve done so well.”

The warm brush against her cheek tickles the corner of her mouth. She opens on instinct, and the warmth brushes her lower lip. Silky soft and tender. A delicious sensation.

“My Rybka. My precious. I’ve waited for so long for you,” he whispers.

At once, she’s overwhelmed in warmth as a wave of touch engulfs her. Weight presses on her shoulders to hold her still against the firm plane of his chest. He squeezes her waist and hip, and another touch wraps around her thighs and cinches tighter to part them. She’s so hungry for the touch, so starved for it, that resistance is the furthest thing from her mind. It feels like being fed for the first time in her life, to be cradled and stroked like something valuable and wanted. Rey gasps as another tendril of heat snakes beneath her breast and encircles it.

How can Father be everywhere at once, like some holy spirit? 

He is moving around her, undulating like the sea, and his grip grows stronger, possessive. Her eyelashes flutter as something twines in her hair and gently tilts her head back. The warmth on her lip breaches her mouth and slowly swells inside, and on instinct she begins to suck and lick. A heat kindles between her legs and the touch moves deeper, to the apex of her thighs. Now her gasps come quicker, the squeeze on her breast and thighs holding her open for him, and she moans when he brushes her center . . .

. . . Rey’s eyes snap open and reality seeps in once again. She slaps a palm on her panting mouth.

She’s alone in her cot, but the heat from the dream still burns deep inside as an unfamiliar ache. She squeezes her legs together and rolls onto her side, folding her hands between the gap in her thighs as she blinks, shocked and confused by the dream.

The work of the devil. Not real. Then why is her body still burning?

She hazards to reach to the place where it throbs to feel for herself. It’s sticky and damp, with an emptiness she hardly understands, but at her own touch a spark lights inside. Her cheeks burn in shame. 

She hears the door rattle open in the kitchen. Mrs. Kanata, here to prepare breakfast. 

She must get up. The sinful feelings for Father will fade.

They must. 

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars characters are property of The Walt Disney Company.  
> Original story and characters are copyright © 2020 by NewerConstellations. All rights reserved.
> 
> This work is intended for personal use by Ao3 users while posted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of author, except in the cases of certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Please do not transmit downloads beyond personal use.
> 
> For permission requests, write to newerconstellations@gmail.com.


End file.
